


Shore to Shore

by turtle_paced



Series: Stars Crossing [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, mentioned Brandon Stark/Catelyn Tully, mentioned Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, mentioned Lyanna Stark/Robert Baratheon, mentioned Ned Stark/Catelyn Tully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 20:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1660919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtle_paced/pseuds/turtle_paced
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the beginning of Robert's Rebellion, Ned Stark, the new Lord of Winterfell, must make his way home and try to come to grips with his losses - and his future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shore to Shore

**Author's Note:**

> Not much in the way of content notes - mentions of canonical murders, minor character death, the patriarchy making everyone miserable. Well within the "teen and up" rating though.

Jon found him in the Eyrie’s godswood, such as it was, praying in the place where there should have been a heart tree. “Ned,” Jon said, “Ned, you’ve been here for hours, lad. There are things that need doing. You’ll need all the sleep you can get in the months to come.”

Ned did not reply.

“Come, if you cannot sleep, drink with me instead.”

It was cold in the godswood, Ned realised. Dark, too. He had scarce noticed, distracted by…the news. The words the raven had brought had put a chill in his bones he couldn’t imagine ever fading. But he followed Jon all the same, head low and heart heavy. He sat down in one of the comfortable chairs in Jon’s solar in a daze. Even the spices in the mulled wine tasted dull.

Ned drank it anyway, and did not speak. When he’d drained the goblet, Jon refilled it. “It’s hard to imagine,” Ned said, halfway through the second. “I knew there was a risk, but…it was supposed to be a trial. Not –“

He took another swallow of wine and tried again. “I knew they might die when Father went south. I knew that if he lost, Brandon would be executed and I…” He couldn’t say it. _Heir to Winterfell. The Lord of Winterfell._ “It was murder,” he said instead. “They were murdered.”

“Your pain will ease in time,” Jon said sympathetically over the rim of his own goblet. “I am sorry. They deserved better. Have you talked to Robert? He knows well what you must be going through.”

Ned shook his head. “Robert is too angry to talk to anyone. Even me.”

Jon sighed. “I hope he will remember to give his condolences before we leave.”

“He will.” Even through the haze of grief and shock, Ned was certain of it. Robert would come back to himself enough for that. The news about Lyanna had hit them both hard, but they had waited. A trial by combat was dangerous, but the gods would know that Rickard Stark was in the right. And though past his prime, Ned knew his father was a very able swordsman, something that had always been able to help the gods come to the right decision.

Aerys had put an end to that, with fire and madness.

“He just needs a bit of time,” Ned said. Just as Ned himself did. A rebellion. They were going to rebel. Jon Arryn had already sent back his defiance and called his banners.

“Time is something we do not have in abundance,” Jon replied, voice grim. “We decided that already. Robert will have to harness that temper. And you – you will have to be a good deal braver than you are currently acting. As hard a thing as it sounds, none of us have time for your grief, not even you, not after tonight. Winterfell is yours by right now, _Lord Stark_ , whether you ever expected to have it or not.”

The words sent a jolt through him. “I am not – Brandon is –“

“-is dead, Ned. Your brother is dead, as is your father. You have not taken anything from either of them. It is no fault of yours that you live while they do not. I know for a certainty that your father would want you to avenge the wrong done to you all.” More gently, he continued: “The responsibility is a heavy one, I know. But I believe you are equal to the task ahead of you.”

Ned didn’t feel equal to anything at that moment. “I am just a second son,” he protested. “I was not meant for this.”

“A second son, yes, but open your eyes. Your father, Robert’s father, Hoster Tully and I have been preparing for – well, not this, but something like this – for some time. Elbert visited Winterfell to befriend your brother Brandon, and you were fostered here, to learn alongside the Lord of Storm’s End. You are as well-prepared for this duty as any young man could be. But you were the least of the arrangements we made.”

“Brandon’s betrothal,” Ned said. His brother’s betrothal had not occurred to him, but now it did. Now it did. “Lyanna and Robert.”

“Precisely,” Jon said. “And after Aerys refused a match between Rhaegar and Lord Tywin’s daughter Cersei, Lord Tully offered his second daughter for Tywin’s heir.”

“This was planned…?”

“And the gods laugh at our efforts. It was a Great Council we wanted. Not a war.”

“I am sorry,” Ned said. Elbert was dead as Brandon was. Jon had lost his heir, like Ned had lost his father and brother. His plans were in disarray too. There could be no peaceful change of king now.

“It’s not your fault. I’ll name Ser Denys as my heir, and hope for the best.” He refilled Ned’s goblet with wine again, lukewarm now. It tasted no better than the first two goblets had. “But now you know what bound the plan together, you understand what you must do, aside from reaching Winterfell in safety and calling your banners?”

“Yes,” he said. “I understand.” _We’re selling horses._

“Not from here, though,” Jon cautioned him. “It will keep until you reach the North, though not much longer, and it must be under your own seal. Hoster Tully must know your offer to be from the Lord of Winterfell.”

That was Ned now, the second son. He had no seal, nothing that bore his sigil, no army. Just Aerys’ wrath, the pride of his house, and a long, potentially dangerous, trip home.

\---

By the time they parted in the Mountains of the Moon, it was clear that Gulltown intended to remain royalists. They knew little of Targaryen madness in Gulltown, but much of Arryn taxmen. “We must go our separate ways, then,” Ned said when he, Jon and Robert conferred about the news. “I must go north, and now, but I can find passage on a fishing boat to White Harbor.”

“I’m going to need a proper ship,” Robert declared. No little fishing boat could take him from the Vale to Storm’s End, at least not in a timely fashion. It was a dangerous enough trip past Dragonstone, Driftmark, and all the shipping traffic heading towards King’s Landing. “And for that I’ll need Gulltown.”

Jon agreed, and so they made the bulk of the army ready to march upon Gulltown. Ned would ride for the Fingers, alone and anonymous, the better to escape attention. Most of the lands between here and White Harbor had heeded Jon’s call. It was dangerous, but such was the life of a rebel to and fugitive from the crown.

Robert had cheered somewhat on the way through the mountains. He wasn’t back to his usual carefree self, nor did he have the anticipation in his eyes that he did before a tourney melee. _He looks like he does before a hunt_ , Ned realised as he watched his friend rouse some of the younger and more nervous-looking looking levies. _He wants blood._

This was only confirmed when Robert came over to Ned to say his farewells. They stood a little apart from the army. It was a fine spring day, and from the heights they could see for miles. “I’ve got the fun part,” Robert said. “You enjoy your fishing trip, Ned. I’m off to take a port, take as many ships as I can, and then take the Stormlands.”

“With Jon’s men.”

“Neither of us have our own yet. I intend to pull my weight. I mean to be the first man on Gulltown’s walls.”

“Just take care that you don’t end a head on a spike on those walls.”

Robert laughed. “But I wouldn’t be the first, if that happened.”

That won a small smile from Ned, the first he’d smiled since the raven came to the Eyrie with the news of the trial. And he was smiling about his friend’s head on a spike. Sobering quickly at the realisation, he asked Robert, “How do you feel about becoming king?”

It had to be Robert. His grandmother had been a Targaryen; Robert’s family was the next closest branch of the family to those Targaryens ruling now. And Robert himself was the most charismatic of them all, the most fearsome in battle and the one who could win the most respect from the smallfolk and the nobility alike.

Ned wouldn’t have taken it if someone offered it. He didn’t even want to be the Lord of Winterfell.

“I haven’t thought about it much,” Robert confessed. “Just like I don’t think about being Lord of Storm’s End much. I’ve hardly spent more than two weeks there at a time since I was nine. It’s winning this war I’m worried about. And Lyanna. We’ll find her, Ned. We’ll get her back and make every last Targaryen pay for what they’re doing to her. To your family.”

“I thank you,” Ned said, a chill running down his spine at Robert’s words. He knew how Robert could go overboard sometimes. “For your concern for my sister.”

“Ah, don’t be like that. She’s to be my wife. You’re to be my brother.” His eyes grew distant. “I wonder if Rhaegar told her what happened to Brandon and your father. Just to be cruel. I hope not.”

“I hope he did,” Ned replied. “Or that someone did. Lya would prefer the truth. It would be kinder.”

“ _Kinder?_ ”

“Less cruel, at least.” He knew Lya. First she would scream at whoever told her the news, and then she would weep. When she was done weeping, she would do her best to come back to him and Ben. And every time someone told her she couldn’t do something just made her all the more determined to do it.

She would much rather know, and use the knowledge to rebel herself any way she could. If she knew Ned was coming for her, she would do the best she could.

Robert shook his head and looked away, out across the Vale. “Ned, I plain don’t understand you sometimes.”

“Nor I you.”

“The next time I see you, you’ll be at the head of an army.” Robert looked back at him and leered. “And _married._ Think on that, Ned – you can finally fuck a woman without besmirching that precious honour of yours.”

“She was my brother’s betrothed,” Ned said, looking steadfastly east. This was exactly why he’d stopped talking about girls to Robert. Not even after he’d laid with - no, he would not think of that right now. It was too much. “She must be grieving for him too.” Catelyn Tully. He’d never so much as seen her.

“Gods damn it, can’t you ever look on the bright side? I get enough gloom from Stannis when I visit home.”

_Winter is coming_ , Ned thought. _Winter is here already, for all the maesters say it's spring._ “Not today, Robert.” And not for a long time, he suspected.

Robert clapped a hand on Ned’s shoulder. “We’ll make the Targaryens pay,” he said. “North, Stormlands, Riverlands, Vale. We won’t let the insult stand. There’s your bright side.” He smiled. Ned knew that smile; he’d seen Robert wear it many a time over the gutted corpse of a boar he’d speared. “We’ll rescue Lyanna together. When have I ever let you down?”

“As you say…your grace.”

Ned’s best friend rolled his eyes. “I’m no king yet. Safe travel to you, Ned. I’ll see you in a few months. I promise I’ll save some battles for you.”

“Don’t get yourself killed,” Ned replied. Robert would have to save some battles for him. Even if he retook the Stormlands, he and Jon Arryn could not possibly muster the forces they needed to resist the combined powers of the Targaryens, the Tyrells, and Dorne. Ned had to bring the North and the Riverlands to bear (the latter bought with a bride-cloak for Catelyn Tully) – and if the Lannisters decided to side with the Crown, they might all be doomed regardless.

He didn’t want to lose Robert as well. If the gods were kind, which admittedly they had not been of late, Robert would live through this. At least until Ned could be there to watch his back.

Ned mounted his horse, took a last look at the small army travelling on their way towards Gulltown, and began his solitary trip towards the Fingers.

\---

He made good time to the Fingers, riding reasonably hard from before dawn until after sunset. The horse he’d taken from Jon’s stables didn’t look like much, but it turned out to tolerate the gruelling pace well. Better than Ned himself could, in truth, though the horse did not have worries keeping it awake in the night. Ned would be sorry to sell it when the time came.

Before, he might have disliked living on hard biscuits and dried beef, but he found he didn’t care anymore. It tasted no worse than anything else he’d eaten since he’d heard about his family. It was just food, and Ned had little appetite.

He had avoided the larger settlements and, he found, he rode ahead of the overland news. Here in the Vale’s hinterlands, rumours of trouble brewing in Gulltown and the Eyrie remained just that for the moment, rumours. Ned knew the truth of it all, but it would be foolish to confirm that a rebellion had truly started while he was alone and vulnerable. He had to get back to Winterfell. The people here would learn eventually.

No one in their right mind would choose to live in the Fingers of their own accord, Ned concluded, almost as soon as he arrived. When he’d first come to the Vale the ship he’d been on had sailed right past them, and Ned had neither thought nor cared about such a place. It was terrible and dreary, all grey stone and scrubby grass. The air smelled like salt and rotting seaweed, and the sky seemed to press very close. It suited Ned’s mood right down to the ground.

The small fishing village he stopped at was in truth nothing more than a miserable collection of a half-dozen huts, much like the other villages he'd passed had been. Even the winter town at the height of summer had more activity than the village, and in the depths of winter it still had more cheer. However, the fishing village had one thing the winter town did not, and that was boats. 

They looked like they were seaworthy, at least.

Ned was not the most at ease with sea travel. He would much prefer a horse, or even his own two feet. But he didn’t have the time for that – and there would certainly be watchers on the Kingsroad, ready to turn him in for a favour from Aerys.

He picked one of the larger boats, crewed by a middle-aged man and a young woman about Ned’s age. A daughter, he had no doubt. They looked much alike, brown-haired and brown-eyed, round-faced and tanned. “Excuse me,” he asked. “How much for passage across the Bite to White Harbor?”

The fisherman looked him up and down suspiciously, taking particular note of Ned’s sword and the quality of his horse. Nothing Ned wore or carried with him was particularly fine, but his gear – and he himself – still stood out against the poverty of the village.

Then again, Ned could hardly be the first young nobleman to show up somewhere like this, willing to pay a ridiculous amount of money for surreptitious passage away from the Gulltown authorities. The fisherman named a price and Ned agreed without haggling. He wouldn’t be needing the coin once he reached White Harbor. His only condition was that they left as soon as possible. “Take my horse as well,” Ned said. “Sell it on, if you like.”

“I’ll do that,” the fisherman said. Ned passed the reins to the man’s daughter. The horse was a particularly docile gelding; he had no fear it would try to bite anyone. “Run home and tell your ma and the little ones what’s going on,” he instructed her. “Tide’ll be right and the weather’s clear enough. We’ll leave soon as you get back.” When the girl had gone, he turned back to Ned. “Name’s Wat. My daughter’s Lilla.”

“Ned,” Ned said.

Wat eyed him in a way that indicated he didn’t believe it. “Probably best I don’t know,” he said when Ned didn’t tell him anything more. “Keep your hands away from my daughter and we’ll do just fine.”

That was just about the last thing on his mind. Robert would have sought consolation in the bed of a willing woman – in fact, knowing Robert as he did, Ned was sure he already had. But Ned was different. He had been trying to forget. “You have my word I will not harm your daughter,” he said.

“Good,” Wat grunted. “Now help me get this boat ready. We don’t usually do passengers. Might as well do some fishing on our way back.”

It took only a short time, perhaps a bit more than an hour. There was little Ned could do to help with the nets or the sails, ignorant as he was, but he moved what he was told to move and held what he was told to hold without complaint.

When they were finally out of sight of land, the fisherman’s daughter asked him, “You wouldn’t have anything to do with the fighting at Gulltown, m’lord?”

Ned closed his eyes for a second. The rumours had to catch up with him eventually. Robert had better not do anything too rash.

“Fighting at Gulltown?” Wat asked sharply, before Ned could reply. “What’s this now, girl?”

“I talked to Red Lem,” she said. “He and his pa got back this morning. They said that old Lord Arryn’s marching on Gulltown. They left before they closed the port.”

Which meant, if Ned figured it correctly, that Jon and Robert had already attacked the town. It might even be taken. Robert might be on a ship of his own, heading back to the Stormlands.

Wat looked at Ned, looked at his daughter, looked at Ned again. “Don’t be stupid, girl,” he said at last. “Our passenger here can’t have anything to do with the fighting at Gulltown. Does this look like Gulltown to you?”

“No, pa.”

“Not another word about it, then. We’ve been paid and paid well.”

“Yes, pa.” But she kept shooting him curious glances after that, and eventually Ned excused himself from the conversation in the hope that maybe he could finally get some sleep. It was a long time coming, wrapped in a thin blanket and surrounded by the overwhelming smell of fish, but come it did.

He dreamed of Harrenhal, and of Ashara.

\---

“Isn’t this the wrong way around, my lady?” Ned asked, desperately nervous and trying not to show it. He’d had so much fun the past few evenings; he didn’t want to ruin it now. “It’s supposed to be a wedding, then a bedding.”

“Nonsense,” Ashara replied. She was laughing. At him, a bit, Ned knew. He felt like laughing too and he didn’t quite know why. “This way is much better. Would you buy a horse before you counted its teeth?”

“Are you comparing me to a horse?”

“I sometimes find the metaphor apt,” she declared, pulling him by the hand into her tent. She dropped his hands, lit a lamp, and started undoing the laces of her gown. “I promise you, whichever woman you do end up wedding won’t complain if you’ve been ridden before.” She smiled at him. The expression had a wicked edge to it. “Especially if I do decide to commit to this purchase. Come on, Ned, get your clothes off, I want to feel your flanks.”

Ned didn’t really know what he was doing, but Ashara had helped him when they danced and she helped him in bed too. “Your point about being ridden before is well-taken,” he said when they were done.

She laughed. She was as quick to laugh as she was to make a jest of her own. “Now, that’s not a sentiment I expected from a northern boy,” she said, and rolled over to kiss him on the mouth again before getting out of bed entirely. “I’ll make a Dornishman of you yet. It’s been a long time since I had so much fun with a blushing maid.”

Ned felt his cheeks heat. That only made Ashara laugh again, and suddenly Ned didn’t mind all that much.

She pulled on a shift, apparently intending to sleep for the few hours before dawn. “Gods, it’s chilly here in spring,” she said. “You kept me warm very well indeed.”

Ned almost dropped his shirt.

“I have a good feeling about you, Ned Stark,” she continued as she watched him dress as well. He felt a bit self-conscious, the way she kept her eyes on him, but not in a bad way. “I’ll talk to my father after the tourney. I don’t think he’ll have any objections.”

He fumbled with a boot this time. “Nor mine,” he said. “You – you mean it?”

“Of course I mean it. You’re not toying with a poor girl’s feelings, are you?”

“No more than you’re toying with mine now.”

She embraced him. The only other woman who had ever embraced him was Lyanna, an entirely different matter. He tentatively put his arms around Ashara in return. They stood like that for a minute, and somehow it felt as intimate as bedding her had. “It’ll take a while to arrange,” she said into his shoulder. “I know men who would not be so patient.”

When he’d first been introduced to her at the beginning of the tourney, Ned had been tongue-tied, completely lost for words. He said, “There is nobody else that I would rather wed,” without the slightest hesitation.

Ashara – his soon-to-be-betrothed – took a step back from him so she could look him in the eyes. “Coming from you, I believe it,” she said. “Now, you’d better get back to your tent, unless you _want_ Brandon to mock you for the next year. I’ll see you at the jousting…my love.”

\---

Ned had been trying not to think about that. Trying not to think of her.

There was still nobody else that he would rather marry. Only someone that he must marry, instead.

He was the Lord of Winterfell now, bound to honour the Lord of Winterfell’s obligations and the long-ago deal that Lady Catelyn Tully would one day be Lady Catelyn Stark. More pragmatically, if he did not bring the swords of Riverrun to this conflict, Jon, Robert and he himself were surely doomed.

No matter how he and Ashara felt about each other, their fathers had still been negotiating when Lyanna had been abducted. Distance and time had been their enemies. There was no formal betrothal between them, and even if there had been, these were circumstances in which a Lord Paramount would be expected to set aside a love match for a more strategically important one. _Horse trading_ , Ned thought bitterly. _Hoster Tully might want to count my teeth, at that._

How could he put Ashara above Jon and Robert, his own honour, the honour of his house, all the men that might die fighting for them, above the safety of the realm itself, ruled by a mad king as it was? He couldn’t. Not in good conscience.

He tried to recall what Brandon had told him of Catelyn Tully. That was hard enough for him to do, since thinking of Brandon hurt as well. Tall and fair, he had said, with red hair and blue eyes. He had made other comments about her form as well, but Ned had stopped listening. It wouldn’t have been proper. The lady was to be his good-sister, after all.

But was she kind? Quick of wit? Did she like to laugh? Brandon had never said.

\---

The boat was not far from the Sisters when the storm came up. “That looks bad,” Lilla said, as the black clouds built up on the horizon.

Wat cursed, and spat over the side of the boat. “That’s coming right off the Shivering Sea. It’ll have as much ice in it as it does rain. Best start tying everything down. If we’re lucky we’ll make it to Sisterton before the worst of it hits.”

Ned didn’t know much about sailing, but he knew his luck. He didn’t have any to speak of.

It was terrible, being able to see the storm heading in, and being unable to escape it. Robert always claimed to like the sight, that even watching his parents’ ship sink couldn’t stop him enjoying the view of a good storm rolling across Shipbreaker Bay, but the view from the top of Storm’s End and the view from a fishing boat were very different. _Winter is coming_ , Ned thought. _So is this storm. Prepare. Endure. Survive. Father taught me that much, at least._

The green water turned grey. The waves grew tall, then alarmingly tall. It felt to Ned as though the boat was travelling very quickly up and down small, steep hills. Then the waves grew larger still. “Look for lights!” the fisherman shouted to Ned. “There’ll be lights burning at the Sisters!”

Ned couldn’t have said how long he clung to the side of the boat, a length of rope tied about his waist at one end and the mast at the other. The pitching of the deck threw him to his knees more than once. He cut his chin and bit his tongue on one of those occasions, and considered himself lucky that he didn’t break his jaw or even lose any teeth. Ice and salt water stung every bit of exposed skin. And it was _loud_. The wind screamed in his ears, the rain pelted against sea and boat alike, the waves crashed, and every so often, there was the boom of thunder.

_I am going to die here_ , Ned thought more than once. He prayed to the old gods as best he could and held on tightly. _I cannot die here._

Finally, he marked a dim, persistent glow through the rain and hail. It was not the moon; that was waning. Nor was it the setting sun; that had recently become vaguely visible ahead of them, providing only the poorest illumination in an eerie reddish shade but giving him hope that the storm would soon break. This was a beacon light. “There!” he shouted, pointing. “To the south!”

“I see it!” Lilla shouted back.

When Ned turned to face her, she was the only other person on the boat.

The rain eased as they turned south. The worst was clearly over. “We’re taking on water,” Lilla told him, as they slowly sailed towards the beacon. “I think we’ll get there.” Her face was grey with exhaustion and she was shaking with cold. “Would you…” She nodded at the third line tied to the mast.

Ned hauled on Wat’s line. To his surprise, the fisherman’s corpse was still attached. “Good knots,” Lilla said, voice numb. “He always wanted to die at sea. I saw him get swept overboard.” She scrubbed at her eyes. Ned couldn’t tell if she was weeping, with the rain still falling.

“We’ll see him buried when we get to the Sisters,” Ned said. He couldn’t bury his own father – gods only knew what Aerys had done with Lord Rickard’s bones, and Brandon’s. _Heads on a spike. Hung from a gibbet. Gods, no._ But he could see that the surly, honest fisherman’s body was treated respectfully.

“At sea,” Lilla said. “I know how to do it.”

They travelled on in silence for a while, cold and miserable and afraid. The sun set fully, and the beacon glow stood out more in the slowly clearing weather. The darkness could not hide how low in the water the boat was starting to ride. “We’ll get there,” Lilla repeated. “Even if we have to land at Sweetsister.”

“Sweetsister…is that particularly bad?” Ned was baling water as best he could, but it wouldn’t be enough to keep them afloat.

“The worst of the three,” she said. “But this boat won’t last any further than Sisterton, if that.”

Ned tried to remember what little he knew of the Three Sisters. They were sworn to the Vale and to Jon, if somewhat tenuously. “We had probably best avoid being seen, if we can. I still have coin.” His bag, to his surprise, had not been lost in the storm, but was still wedged firmly behind a water cask. There was nothing dry in it. There was nothing dry anywhere on the boat. “We can buy our way off Sweetsister with that.”

“We, m’lord? I need to go home to my ma, and you seem set on White Harbor.” _And you promised to pay more on arrival_ , she did not say. She would need the coin more than ever, with her father dead and the fishing boat sinking. She wouldn’t be out here if she had other menfolk, and the boat was her family’s livelihood.

“I’ll not abandon you on Sweetsister,” he said. “I’ll see you have safe passage from White Harbor and the coin I promised you for the voyage.”

“Then I’ll land in the Belly of the Whale,” she said. “Not like I have much choice…”

The Belly of the Whale was vast and secluded, though there were several unsavoury-looking characters there, and a few equally unsavoury-looking guards, almost certainly more accomplices than they were law-keepers. Lilla brought the boat ashore. It was listing badly now, almost capsizing even in the small swells of the cavern. Before it could, they moved Wat’s body. The spectacle of a boat sinking even as it was brought to harbour attracted most every man to see the show.

“Poor bastard,” one of them said when they spotted Wat.

“Lucky us,” another man corrected. One of the guards. He’d taken Ned’s bag while he helped Lilla with Wat and was rifling through it. “They’ve got coin. Too much coin. I say we take this one to Lord Borrell.”

There went their chances of getting off the island unnoticed.

\---

If Ned had thought the Fingers dreary, they had nothing on Sisterton. It smelled even worse, for one thing, rotting fish instead of rotting seaweed, and everything seemed to be made of mud and sticks. Except for Breakwater, the keep, which was made of algae-slimed stone. It was a big keep, but in poor repair. Inside, the roof was leaking and the roar of the ocean could still be heard, but he was at least inside, and not on a boat.

There were three men waiting seated at the end of the hall, where two torches had been lit. A maester, an old man, and another man in his middle years, all with bowls of stew. Ned made the old man and the middle-aged one to be father and son, probably Lord Borrell and his heir. They were both big, ugly, no-necked men, and as Ned got closer, he saw that there was webbing between the fingers of their right hands. The maester was a rail-thin man with a pinched mouth and sharp lines about his eyes, locking his face into a perpetual scowl.

“What have we here?” the old man croaked.

“He and his companion came ashore in the Belly of the Whale,” the guard reported. “Their boat looked to be a fisherman’s and it was sinking underneath them. He has far too much coin to be just a common smuggler.”

He passed over Ned’s bag of coins. Lord Borrell checked inside. “So, lad. That’s an awful lot of silver. And even a bit of gold, I see. Who might you be, to carry so much, and on such a craft as a fishing boat? I might think that you didn’t want our hospitality.”

“Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell,” he said, and his voice didn’t crack at all on the title that was now his. “I beg pardon for not making a proper introduction, but I must needs reach White Harbor as soon as possible.”

The maester’s eyebrows rose, and the younger Borrell looked at his father. The old man smiled slightly. “Well,” he said. “Well, well, well. Stark. That’s a dangerous name to have these days.” He pushed the coins away from him. “I saw Lord Stark some years back at a feast in White Harbor. You have his look.”

“I understand there must be a price on my head.” He must not show any fear here. He must not show any weakness. Tenuously sworn to the Vale. If they thought him weak, they would send him to Aerys, and they could all be lost if that happened. “I would ask that you send me on regardless, that I may call my banners and join the rebellion. No doubt you know of that by now.”

“We do indeed, and the reward for your head is quite substantial,” the maester said. He turned to his lord. “I would advise you take it and send it to King’s Landing. It would prove your loyalty to Aerys once and for all. This rebellion is a doomed venture.”

“The wolf and the falcon fought over the Sisters for a thousand years,” Lord Borrell said. “Now they have joined together, along with the stag, to fight the dragon.”

“Arryn cannot even bring the whole of the Vale to his cause,” the maester argued. “Gulltown is for Aerys.”

“Not anymore, it isn’t,” the younger Borrell said. Ned listened carefully, heart in his mouth. The first battle. Not the main test, but if they had lost this… His fate might ride on it. “Gulltown has fallen. Robert Baratheon was the first man to gain the walls, and he slew Marq Grafton himself. It seems Baratheon is fearless.” Ned did not allow his expression to change. Naked relief was weakness too. “He fights the way a king should fight,” the younger Borrell concluded.

_Exactly why we chose him._ Ned didn’t look likely to impress anyone, standing battered, bruised, and sopping wet in a dank hall. The blood from the cut on his chin had matted in his short, ragged beard, and he hadn’t changed his clothing since he left the Fingers. Not exactly kingly material. Not even the stuff such as the Lords of Winterfell were made of.

“Without men?” the maester snapped back. “The Stormlands are leagues away from the Vale. If Baratheon returns to Storm’s End unscathed, _if_ he does, he will be under siege from the Reach, the Crownlands, and Dorne, with none to help him. Fearlessness is foolishness in such a situation.”

“The Targaryens cannot leave the Vale at their backs. Arryn might be old, but he isn’t a fool. He’d take the advantage, especially if the Tullys are inclined to side with the rebels.”

Lord Borrell mulled that over. “While Tywin Lannister sits in Casterly Rock and broods over the wrongs Aerys has done him,” he said. “Who knows which way he will go, in the end? Nor is our friend here without means – or without heirs. Lord Rickard had three sons, and Aerys only killed the one.”

_Better and bette_ r, Ned thought, though the mention of his father and Brandon stung again. _Ben. If I die, Ben will fight._ He didn’t want Benjen to have to fight, but his youngest sibling would if it came to that.

The maester chuckled. “It matters not,” he said. “Prince Rhaegar is certain to defeat this rebel Baratheon.”

That was Ned’s cue. “In this world, only winter is certain.” He knew that better than ever now. “We may lose our heads, it’s true…but what if we prevail?” He let that sink in. “We have reason to believe the Riverlands will join our cause as well,” he added. “And as you say, my lord, Tywin Lannister sits in Casterly Rock and fights for neither side.”

There was a long pause.

Lord Borrell called for a servant. “Food and dry clothing for our guest,” he said, and Ned suppressed another sigh of relief. Guest right. He was safe as soon as the first spoonful of stew passed his lips. Once the servant had left, Lord Borrell added, “If you lose, you were never here. We’ll send you on your way in the morning.”

\---

The next day found him aboard a proper ship bound for White Harbor, washed and dressed in clean clothing, his beard trimmed and his cuts cleaned. His bruises were still deep purple and he was still tired. He did not know a man could be so tired. And returning to Winterfell would only be the beginning.

He went on deck to find Lilla kneeling over her father’s canvas-wrapped corpse. She’d insisted on doing that task herself, carefully placing rocks in the folds of the shroud so it would sink. “I’m waiting until we’re out of sight of land, m’lord,” she explained. “He wouldn’t want to be buried near the Sisters. He always said it was a filthy place. M’lord.”

At some point the day before she had found out he was Lord Stark, not just a petty lordling running an urgent message to the Manderlys. Since then, when she spoke to him, almost every sentence ended with “m’lord.” She’d been given new clothing too, a plain woollen dress and stout shoes, and it was doing nothing for her confidence. Lilla clearly preferred breeches, and being the captain of her own boat.

Half the sailors, and the Borrells, clearly thought he was bedding her. Ned didn’t care.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.

“Pray for his soul, m’lord?”

“I keep the old gods,” he told her. “If a prayer to them would not offend you, gladly.”

“My family keeps the Seven. But no, m’lord, it wouldn’t offend.” She looked out over the ship’s rail, to where Sweetsister was receding into the distance. “Having a few more gods looking out for him couldn’t hurt.”

Ned bowed his head and did as she asked.

When all they could see was the ship’s wake and white-capped green waves below them, all the way to the horizon, Lilla spoke. “May the Father judge him justly and the Mother show him mercy,” she said. She picked up one end of the canvas-wrapped bundle, and Ned took the other. Wat’s feet, he could feel them through the fabric. “Goodbye, pa,” Lilla said. “I’ll tell ma what happened.”

They dropped him over the rail together. They watched him sink as the ship left the spot behind. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Ned said.

Lilla wiped at her eyes. “Thank you, m’lord.” She hesitated. “Some of the men said that the king killed your pa. Is that true?”

“Yes,” Ned said. “And my brother.”

“Because Prince Rhaegar kidnapped your sister?”

Throat too tight to speak, Ned simply nodded.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. “M’lord.”

“It’s been a few weeks,” he replied. “The hurt is…less fresh.” Though still just as deep. Jon had said it would get better with time, but how much time? Maybe when the Targaryens were replaced, when Lyanna was home and safe, and when justice was done. Maybe then he’d feel better.

Or maybe he never would. He’d have to sit in the seat that had been his father’s and should have been his brother’s. Would he ever be able to do the job without thinking that they would have handled it more ably? He had to wed his brother’s betrothed. Most every woman he’d ever met preferred Brandon to him, Ashara excepted. Why should Catelyn Tully be any different? What would she think, when he offered himself in Brandon’s place?

In truth he was dreading his return to Winterfell.

“Have you ever been to White Harbor before?” he asked, to distract himself.

“Two or three times, this winter just past, m’lord. Pa thought we’d get good prices selling north. We didn’t stay for long, we were just there to sell. Gulltown’s usually more profitable, especially if you get the right customs men – begging your pardon, m’lord!”

“I am not responsible for collecting customs in Gulltown,” Ned said. “I’ve only passed through White Harbor a few times myself.”

“What’s Winterfell like?”

“Old,” Ned said. “A long way from the sea, by the Wolfswood. I know the Eyrie better, since I’ve lived there the last ten years.” And he told her about the Eyrie instead, the frightening journey up the mountain and the terrifying journey back down, how far across the Vale you could see on a clear day, winter at the Gates of the Moon. For ten years he’d called it home. More than half his life.

He had always known that one day he would have to leave, but what he had not expected was for his home to be Winterfell once again. Since he was eight, Winterfell was a place he visited, just for a few weeks, every few years. It was a holdfast he dreamed of, somewhere with a heart tree, somewhere he could visit Brandon easily. In the past year, he had dreamed of the freedom to visit Robert and Lyanna when they wed, and Ashara too, making a home with him.

It was not to be, now, and there was no use pining after it. Sooner or later he would be able to make himself stop.

“Tell me about the Fingers,” he said, and listened to a woman he would never see again after this voyage tell him about places he would never live.

\---

As soon as he left the ship, there were men in the blue-green cloaks and carrying silver tridents stepping forward to greet him. “Lord Stark,” the captain said, “Lord Manderly awaits you in the Merman’s Court.”

“I thank you,” he said. “Please take me to him directly.”

In many ways it was a good thing that his first test with his own bannermen was to be with Wyman Manderly. Brandon had been the beneficiary of most of Lord Rickard’s lessons, but Ned had had more than a few. His father had always said Wyman Manderly was cunning, easily underestimated, and a loyal friend the likes of which few great houses could boast of.

The Merman’s Court was unlike anything Ned had seen before, elaborate carvings winding around the walls and ceiling. It was also empty, which was also to Ned’s relief. Anything to put off the moment when he would have to handle all his bannermen together. For that, he would much rather be in Winterfell itself. “White Harbor mourns for the death of Lord Rickard Stark and Brandon Stark,” Wyman Manderly himself said, from where he was wedged securely into his seat. “I am pleased to see you returned north safely…Lord Eddard.”

Ned inclined his head. It was not so different from what had happened at Sisterton. Manderly might be a friend, but he would run rings around Ned if he thought it necessary, and he could still show no weakness. “It was not without its harrowing moments,” he said. “Your welcome is most gracious.”

Lord Wyman heaved himself out of his chair. “Come, Lord Stark. Let us continue this discussion elsewhere. This is not the time for long formalities.”

_Elsewhere_ turned out to be a table laid out with a magnificent spread. “Eat,” Lord Wyman said. “Drink. The Starks are always welcome here.”

Ned needed no second invitation. He had had a good bowl of sister’s stew in Sisterton, but otherwise he had been living on hard biscuits, dried meat, fruit, and fish since he’d left the Eyrie. “I trust the woman who risked her life and lost her father in her efforts to bring me here safely will be treated well while she is in White Harbor,” Ned said, helping himself to roast pork and green vegetables. They tasted better than anything else had since he heard of his family’s deaths.

“We will see she has lodging and safe passage back to her home,” Lord Wyman said. “I am also happy to facilitate your arrangements for her payment.”

“See that she has enough silver to buy a fishing boat, and another fifty silver on top of that. Her boat was badly damaged in same storm that drowned her father, and it was only because of her courage and skill that we were not drowned ourselves afterwards. As it was, she could not save the boat.”

Manderly smiled. “A harrowing moment indeed.”

That dealt with, Ned tucked into his meal in earnest. “What news of the war?” Ned asked. “The last I heard was of the fall of Gulltown. Robert planned to take ship there and sail for the Stormlands.”

“Little enough,” Manderly said. “The freshest news is from the Vale, which holds. We have received no news from the Stormlands, though the Tyrells are staying loyal to the Crown. The men of the Reach will likely be the first to invade the Stormlands. The Dornish, it seems, have been slow to rally themselves in defense of the crown, but that may have changed. It takes a long time for news from Dorne to reach us here. There has been no news of your sister Lady Lyanna, I’m sorry to say.”

“Storm’s End prepares for a siege,” Ned said, smothering his disappointment over Lyanna. He, Jon, and Robert had discussed it. “Robert’s brother Stannis is to hold the castle.” Ned knew not whether Stannis (who was younger than Ned, if he recalled correctly) could do so, but any time he bought by holding out against besieging forces was time that Robert could use to link up with Jon Arryn and Ned himself, in time, and defeat whatsoever royalist armies might be in the field.

“Hoster Tully has called his banners and stands fast, no doubt preparing for battles to be fought in his lands.”

_He is waiting for me to make him an offer._ “Tywin Lannister?”

“Still at Casterly Rock. As far as I know, he shows no signs of entering the conflict, on either side. Nobody seems to know what he intends, or whether he means to sulk in the West until the fighting is over.”

Now the most important question. “What of the North? What has happened here in my absence?”

“We all know how things stand, my lord,” Manderly said. “Most of us have called up men ready to march. We await the call from Winterfell.” He smiled slightly. “The delay has given us a little more time to drill the men, so it has not been entirely unproductive.”

“I wish to be on my way upon the morrow,” Ned said. He had to keep going. Jon could likely hold the Vale for months without help, but Robert would need their support. “Please have your maester send a raven to Winterfell to let them know of my approach.”

Manderly’s pale blue gaze was piercing. “That can be done. I must insist on an escort, however, while you do not have your own men with you. If you allow it, I will send my son Wylis to guard you, and to represent me in your councils.”

“If Ser Wylis and his men are ready to leave at dawn, I will take them all with me gladly. I will send a raven to you when all is in readiness.” If Manderly told it true, however, a great deal of the organisation had already been done. That was good. They were angered by the outrage perpetrated by Aerys. Ned could use that anger. He could use all the help he could get. For the first time he was grateful for the arrangement he must come to with Hoster Tully – everyone knew what must be done to secure the Riverlands, and none would try to bludgeon him into an impossible wedding.

“There is one more favour I would ask you, my lord,” he said.

“You have but to ask, Lord Stark.”

“A bath and a bed,” he said. “The afternoon is nearly done and it has been a long time since I slept the night through. When the war is won I will feast you in Winterfell to make up for my discourtesy in not joining you for a feast this evening.”

Wyman Manderly laughed. It set his whole body to shaking. “Easily done, my lord, and I will hold you to that promise! I take no offense.”

When Ned stood before a mirror in the room Lord Manderly had arranged for him, he quickly saw why no offense had been taken. He did not look like a healthy man. Hard riding, bad food, and gnawing grief had started to take a visible toll on him. His face was wan, there were deep shadows under his eyes, he'd lost some weight, and as he raised a hand, he realised he could hardly hold it level from sheer exhaustion. Not even the passage between Sisterton and White Harbor had rested him. It was just as well he had left Manderly’s company when he had.

The bath was steaming hot. Ned stayed in it until the water was cool, soaking away his aches. The bed had a thick down mattress and warm blankets, and Ned felt he could sleep for a week, but he left orders to be woken an hour before dawn anyway.

\---

There was a thin layer of frost on the ground as Ned rode out from White Harbor with his Manderly escort. Ned had made the trip between Winterfell and White Harbor a few times before, once on a boat down the White Knife. That had been during summer. In winter the White Knife froze, and in early spring it flooded.

And it was flooding now, Ned saw as their horses travelled the river path, the second-quickest route between Winterfell and White Harbor. It had not broken its banks, nor was it likely to from what he could see, but it was definitely swollen and running very fast. Fed by meltwater at this time of the season, the river would be almost freezing cold. Only the bravest, most foolhardy rivermen would be on the water today.

Ned was sick to death of boats in any event. The river path was fine with him.

He would be on this road until he reached Winterfell. He was in the last stretch of his journey now, and the safest by far. The worst they were like to encounter was an early spring blizzard. Though they could be fierce, they also melted off quickly and would not delay the journey for long. But the sky was blue and cloudless. _Would that I could have had that weather across the Bite._

Ned didn’t feel much like talking to anyone, but he made himself speak to every man in his escort as they travelled. It was the duty of a lord, his father had said. Brandon would have found it easy. Ned didn’t know what compliments to make about Wylis’ three-year-old daughter, didn’t have any comments to make on the relative merits of White Harbor’s pot shops, and could not contribute to the discussion on the finer points of archery, though thanks to Wat and Lilla, he knew a bit more about the price of fish than he had before.

It was familiar country to Ned and it grew more familiar with every passing league. The last time he had visited Winterfell, in late autumn, his father had ridden as far as White Harbor when Ned departed, intending to see White Harbor’s port for himself. Lyanna had come with them, always begging Ned to race her to the next landmark.

“Are you looking forward to returning to Winterfell?” Wylis Manderly asked him when they were, by Ned’s estimate, a day’s ride away. “You’ve been a long time away, haven’t you, Lord Stark?”

_No_ , Ned didn’t say. _This place is Father’s. This place is Brandon’s. I’m not supposed to be the lord here._ “Yes,” he said. “My brother Benjen must have been worried. This cannot have been easy for him.” He would have woken one day to find Lyanna gone. He would have watched Lord Rickard ride away, never to return. He would have got word of the murders, and heard that Aerys had demanded Ned’s head as well. How he must have feared that he would be the Lord of Winterfell before this was all over! Ben was still only a boy, in truth.

Dread tightened steel bands around his chest over the course of the day. He sat up a long time, the last night out of Winterfell, trying to calm himself for the day ahead. _This cannot be avoided. You must do this. It is your duty._

He stared into the flames of the campfire and thought, _my father was put into a fire and burned alive in his armour_ , and then he had to turn away.

If he had to lose this war, he would be glad only to lose his head as punishment.

But he did not intend to lose. That was the fear talking to him. _You will have to be brave_ , Jon had said. And if he couldn’t be brave like Brandon, he would have to pretend until he was. Just over the rise, not all that far out of sight, was Winterfell. He’d seen Winterfell before. There was little and less to be scared of in Winterfell.

The towers came into view around midmorning and Ned had to tell himself that again.  _I am the Lord of Winterfell._

And then they were there. The walls loomed higher than Ned remembered, though he had grown since he’d last seen them. When they opened the gates, he saw that the household had turned out to greet him. Of course they had. Ned was the lord here now.

It felt wrong, he thought, still sitting his horse in the middle of the yard while nobody around him said a word. It felt wrong.

Ben stepped forward after a few seconds of awkward silence, as unsure as Ned was about the new protocol. “Lord Stark,” he said – his voice had broken since Harrenhal – “Winterfell is yours.”

“Thank you, Benjen,” he said, mouth dry. As soon as he dismounted his horse, a stableboy whisked it away. As he took his cloak and gloves off, someone came forward to take them as well. Someone mentioned taking the rest of his things - such few things as he had - being moved to the lord's quarters. Ned hardly registered it.

“I thought you’d been caught on the road until I got that raven from Lord Wyman,” Ben said. “I’ve had ravens from the king calling me Lord Stark and calling for me to quell all signs of rebellion.”

Ned looked around the bustling yard. There were far more men there than usual, without a proportional increase in women. The forge was particularly busy. It was clearly the beginnings of a war host, not feast day or tourney business. “You’ve done well,” he said.

The words made Benjen jump, and then hang his head. “I need to tell you something. Later. Alone. When you’re done with the lords, I mean.” He looked up again. “I’m glad you’re back, Ned.”

“I’m glad to be back,” Ned told him, and this time he even meant it a little.

\---

He called the banners. His banners.

As Lord Manderly had said, a good deal of the work had been done already. The North had seen the war coming as well as it ever had anticipated the winter. But after the ravens were sent, requesting men to march to Winterfell (or, if the houses lay south of Winterfell, to make their way to the Kingsroad and send representatives to Winterfell), all Ned could do was wait and take over the other preparations. Armies could only be arranged and marched south so fast.

There were two more ravens he needed to send, and he could not put them off long. No more than a day. He would write the letters tonight, he resolved. After he spoke to Ben.

His brother – his only brother, now – had asked to speak in the godswood, and Ned had acquiesced. He wanted to spend some time in prayer before a proper heart tree. When he got there, Ben was already praying. Ned sat down beside him. “I can’t believe they’re gone,” he said. “I keep expecting Brandon to come looking for me for a spar, and when I talked to the lords I thought that sooner or later Father would tell me to be quiet and let the older men speak.”

Benjen didn’t answer. He looked at the ground, then the heart tree, and then finally at Ned, allowing Ned to see that he had tears in his eyes. “It’s all my fault,” Ben said. “Ned, it’s all my fault.”

“What’s your fault?” Ned asked uncomprehendingly.

“Everything,” he said. “With Father and Brandon and Lya.”

“I don’t understand.” How could that possibly be  _Ben's_ fault, of all people?

His brother looked around, checking to see if anyone else was there to hear. “Lya…Lya didn’t get kidnapped,” he said. “She’s in love with the Prince.”

The words were a punch to the gut. “What?”

“She ran away,” Ben elaborated. “She didn’t want to wed Robert Baratheon and she wrote to the Prince. He came here to take her somewhere else, they never said where. I’m not sure Lya knew either. She made the Prince wed her before they left, so that even if Father caught her later he couldn’t make her wed Robert.”

If Ned had been standing, he would have staggered.

“I know I should have told Father,” Ben said. “He was so angry. I thought it wouldn’t make a difference, because Lya was wed and Father couldn’t do anything about that no matter how he shouted, but then Brandon… it’s all my fault.”

“You helped them get out of Winterfell undetected,” Ned realised.

Shamefaced, Ben nodded. “I opened the gates for the Prince too,” he said.

So Ben had not just found out, he’d known in advance. He’d clearly witnessed the wedding as well. _Lya, what have you done?_ This sounded like one of her schemes, only a thousand times more disastrous. He had thought the Knight of the Laughing Tree had been bad. Ben always had been her favourite accomplice.

“Father and Brandon are dead,” Ned said, angry now. “ _Dead._ I have to go and fight a war because of this. Thousands of men are going to die in the next few months.”

“I know,” Ben whispered. “I’m going to take the black. I’ll ride to the Wall tomorrow.”

A black cloak erased all crimes. All sins. His surviving brother and his sister both loved their father and Brandon as much as he himself did, but all the same, Ned wasn’t sure he could forgive them – either of them – this. Father dead and Brandon dead, and that was only the start.

“I was going to be married too,” Ned said. He wanted Ben to know this. He wanted Ben to know how angry he was, what else he had lost, what he had to give up because of this. Lyanna's rebellion had not affected her, Father, and Robert alone. It could never have affected just them alone. “To Lady Ashara. You remember her from Harrenhal? Father gave his blessing. Now I have to go write her father tonight and tell him that I cannot marry her after all, because I have to wed Catelyn Tully instead.” He had done _nothing_ wrong and he would be paying for it all the rest of his life. Even if he and Lady Catelyn could reconcile themselves to the match, Ned did not want to be the Lord of Winterfell.

“I’m sorry,” Ben said. “I’m sorry.”

“You can’t take the black,” Ned went on ruthlessly. He felt as though his heart had frozen in his chest. “Not yet. I could still die fighting this war. You’re the only heir I have, and there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. When I return from the south, then you can take the black.” Ben had gone very white under Ned’s gaze. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Ben said.

“Good.” Ned looked at the heart tree. “I need to pray.”

It was meant as a dismissal, and that was how Ben took it, rising to his feet and trudging away. Ned heard him pause briefly at the edge of the clearing before his footsteps trailed away into the godswood. It was harsh of him to send Ben away, Ned reflected, when his brother likely had more need of prayer than Ned did.

Why would Lyanna do this? Didn’t she know that running away and breaking her betrothal would only cause pain, and not just to Robert? Father _had_ to uphold the marriage contracts he made. Ned knew. Oh, Ned knew. It was the way of the world. Brandon hadn’t much wanted to wed Catelyn Tully either, but he had planned to. He had been just days from it. Ned was – had been – luckier, with more opportunity to wed a woman he wanted. It had never even occurred to him to simply wed Ashara anyway, in spite of what had happened. He doubted Catelyn Tully wanted to wed him either. There was so much more at stake than any single person's happiness, and Robert, though not likely to be faithful, was not an evil man. Couldn’t Lyanna see that?

_Love is sweet,_ he remembered her telling him, _but it cannot change a man’s nature_. A woman’s either, he supposed. Lya had ever been just as heedless as Brandon.

To similar results, he was coming to fear.

Angry as he was, he loved her still. And Ben. He would keep their secret and deal with it later. If Rhaegar died during this war, it wouldn’t matter. That would be best. If Robert died, it wouldn’t matter either. Though hopefully he could find Lya first, and come to some arrangement with his sister. He would give up much and more, to see his sister safe and well and happy. He just wished to have a choice in it.

But that was in the future, and not even the immediate future at that. _I do not want to lose anyone else_ , Ned prayed. He already knew that it was a futile prayer. War was upon them. _But if you are kind, please, spare Lyanna and Ben more pain._

\---

The letters took a good deal of the night to write. They shouldn’t have. Ned agonised over every word.

He wrote the one to Hoster Tully first. If he wrote that first, he _had_ to write the letter to the Daynes.

_I am as yet unwed and, with no standing betrothal, I am free to take my late brother’s place in the long-standing arrangement between our families. For your support in this war I would uphold the old agreement and take your daughter Catelyn to wife._

Truly, it was a cold letter. _Are you comparing me to a horse? I sometimes find the metaphor apt._ He would buy the swords of Riverrun with a cloak, and neither his nor Lady Catelyn’s wishes mattered.

The second letter was worse.

Where was Ashara now? After Harrenhal she had returned to King’s Landing with Princess Elia. Her father had been the one to answer his father’s letter. He hoped she had returned home. He hoped she had not seen what became of his family. She had liked Brandon.

_I regret to inform you that I must immediately cease all negotiations for the hand of the Lady Ashara. Prior obligations have made the match impossible._

The letter was from Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, not plain Ned Stark, Lord Rickard’s second son. So he couldn’t even write the words he wanted: _I’m sorry. I would wed Ashara if I could._

He folded them, melted the white wax to seal them, and stamped them with the direwolf seal. Letters from the Lord of Winterfell.

When dawn broke he went to give the letters to Maester Walys. “Very good, my lord,” the man said when he saw where the letters were to go. Ned quelled him with a look. Just because it was the right thing to do didn't mean it hurt any less.

He climbed to the top of the inner wall afterwards and watched the ravens fly over the plain, one south to Riverrun, one south and south and south to Starfall. He couldn’t stop it now. He was committed. He was committed, and there were riders approaching the gates – _his_ gates, for an audience with him.

Winter was coming, and so was a war. Ned composed himself, and Lord Stark of Winterfell went to carry out his duties.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! (I know this was long - it was only supposed to be 3000 words or so originally, but it got away from me.) Any comments anyone has would be greatly appreciated!


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